The Bull and the Bear
by Jack Cross
Summary: Courier Six is in retirement after fighting against the Legion. However the Second Battle of Hoover Dam ended with the Dam in Legion control. Now with New Vegas and many other locations occupied, The NCR is fighting to control the territroy they have left in the Mojave. The Courier will come out of retirement, raise a militia, and take back Vegas. OCs requested
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own anything, everything belongs to Bethesda. Please Review and let me know what you think. ****  
**

_War, War never changes. _

_The New California Republic is loosing its war against Caesar's Legion. With the fall of the Hoover Dam in late 2281, Legionaries pushed the NCR back from the Colorado; capturing locations such as Camp Searchlight, Novac, 188 Trading Post, and Boulder City. Hundreds of people were either crucified or sent back across the river into slavery. _

_Things got even worse in February 2282 when the Legion overran the defenses of New Vegas, capturing the city. In order to demoralize the remaining troopers held up inside Camp McCarran, Ambassador Crocker was crucified from the Vegas sign. Two weeks later, the Camp fell. What small amount of troopers that didn't surrender or die fighting fled, running for NCR held territory around Goodsprings._

_Its now March 2282. Tribes and gangs such as the Fiends have been eradicated or sold into slavery. Others, such as the Kings have literally retreated underground, living in the old sewer tunnels beneath the city. The NCR has retreated west of the central mountain range that divides the Mojave in half and south of Quarry Junction. Only a stubborn defense of the various roads and passes by hardened Ranger Veterans has allowed the NCR to keep a foothold in the Mojave. _

Craig Boone hiked up the broken road toward the small town of Goodsprings. It use to be that Goodsprings was about as far from the front lines as you could get. Now troopers passed through the town on a regular basis, both on their way to the front and to collect water from the fresh springs.

He had only been to this town once before, to drop a friend off into retirement. Now he was going back to call him out of retirement.

After the Dam had fallen, Boone had come out of retirement and rejoined his old unit in an effort to try and defend the city where he had met his wife. When Vegas fell, he's sole obsession became an effort to take the city back. In order to do that he need his friends help.

A year ago, Mac Taylor had been a no body courier working for the Mojave Express. That was until one of his shipments had been intercepted and two bullets fired into his skull. After his recovery, Mac had started on a path of revenge across the Mojave, and had shot up a high-end casino on The Strip just to kill him.

The ancient door to the Prospector Saloon swung open, granting Boone access to the darker, cooler room on the inside. Sunny Smiles and her dog Cheyenne sat by a table just inside the door. The noise of drunken NCR troopers came from the bar room to his left.

He walked into the partly crowded bar room, studying each face for a sign of the person he was looking for. The soldiers all sat at the bar, drinking, laughing and enjoying themselves while a few of the locals sat in the booths and played Caravan. At the end of the bar sat a man wearing the blue overalls and plaid shirt of a Caravaner outfit. The sheriff's hat that usually covered his short black hair was sitting next to his hands on the bar.

"Kind of sad to see you like this," said Boone as he took the stool next to the man, putting himself between him and the soldiers at the other end of the bar.

"Hello to you too," said the man in reply as he down a shot of whiskey. He held up the bottle, offering Boone a drink, who declined.

"You're one of the most famous people in the NCR, why are you doing this?" asked Boone.

"Be more specific," came the reply as he poured another shot.

"I mean why are you in a small town bar drinking Mac, you could be living it up with the brass," he asked. Mac swirled the whiskey around in his shot glass for a moment.

"No one remembers the hero's on the loosing side of a war, Boone," came the reply.

"Does that really make a difference?" Boone asked. Mac shrugged slightly.

"I guess not, but I'm retired and I came back to Goodsprings to get as far from the NCR as I could. Cause here, to them," he motioned to the soldiers at the end of the bar with his glass," I'm just another Brahman herder."

"I'd hate to piss on your parade, but you're near the front lines again. Like it or not the NCR is your next door neighbor," said Boone.

"So I'll relocate."

"To where? You go east and every bounty hunter from here to California will be looking for you. Just hear me out and then I'll leave you alone," said Boone. Mac swirled the whiskey around some more before downing it.

"All right, shoot," he said after a moment of silence.

"Its no secret that the war isn't going well, everyone and their brother knows that. But the brass doesn't want to give up just yet. So a militia is being called up to raise all sort of hell behind Legion lines. They want you to lead it," said Boone. Mac chuckled slightly when he heard this.

"You're the only person on this side of the river who's had the guts to attack the Legion in force, Mac. You just might be what we need to even the odds again. And besides, Cass would have wanted…"

"Don't bring her up," Mac snapped, setting the glass down with a thump. This attracted the attention of Trudy, the bartender.

"Another drink sugar?" she asked. Mac shook his head.

"No thanks, Ill take a few bottles to go and get out of your hair," he replied, setting a small handful of caps on the bar. She responded by setting two bottles of whiskey on the bar and scooping up the caps. Putting the two bottles in his pack, Mac returned his hat to his head and stood before walking out of the bar. Boone followed close behind, back out into the oppressive heat.

They walked passed the General Store, a few other houses, and Doc Mitchell's house headed for the old gas station on the hill. The inside was dimly lit, with only a small lamp sitting on the old check out counter to light it up.

"So what should I tell the Brass up at the outpost?" asked Boone. Mac came up from behind the counter with an old M1 Garand.

"We'll discuss it on the trip," he replied.

**Now for the fun stuff. No superpowers or Cyborg upgrades are allowed and they must be either human or Ghoul. However energy weapons and even weapons from Fallout 3 are allowed. **

**Name:  
**

**Nickname:  
**

**Age:  
**

**Gender:  
**

**Personality:  
**

**Ethnicity:  
**

**Eyes:  
**

**Hair (If Human):  
**

**Scars/Tattoos (If any): **

**Clothing:  
**

**Weapon:  
**

**Birthplace:  
**

**Family:  
**

**Affiliation (If apart of a smaller group, which side will you go with?) :  
**

**Rank ( If any):  
**

**Reason for joining militia: (If siding with my OC):  
**

**Location:  
**

**Background (Lengthy Please) :  
**

**Anything Else:  
**

**So there it is, please post your OCs by August 10th. Please keep in mind that ALL OCs will be included in the story by, although how involved they are will be determined by how fast you submit them.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**As always, please review and let me know what you think. **_  
_

**A/N: I waited this long in order to see if anyone would submit a Legion OC. This story will be told from both sides of the war so please submit a Legion OC if you find the time. PS, sorry this is so short, they will be longer in the future.  
**

_Freeside, The Old Mormon Fort. _

Members of the Kings sat around the yard, conversing with the Followers guards. Many of them had 10MM submachine guns sitting nearby, ready to grab at a moments notice. Above them, the Followers' Flag flapped defiantly in the breeze, a sign that the fort had yet to be taken by the Legion.

On the roofs of the block towers, several guards sat with their rifles cradled in their laps, their eyes never leaving the line of Legion that had surrounded the fort. In the yard below, The King stood near the gate, his cyborg dog Rex sitting loyally next to him. A hurriedly dug tunnel that led down to the old sewer tunnels rested in the exact middle of the compound.

"How much longer do you think we can hold out?" asked The King in his Elvis impersonating voice. His white suit was covered in dust and his greased hair was messed up and unclean.

"I'm not sure, but it won't matter much if the Legion gets through that gate," replied the NCR Sergeant that stood next to him. Together, they watched as several Followers' guards and Kings pilled extra reinforcements against the gate.

"We're still trying to smuggle in supplies from the other side of the Front, the next shipment should be here any day," said Julie Farkas as she walked up from the hole to the tunnels. The Sergeant turned and looked over what was left of his men. The NCR presence in the fort was minimal, with only a few surviving and wounded men that had managed to escape from McCarran.

The King turned and looked up at the towering needle that was The Lucky 38. This was where Caesar resided now, looking down over his empire from a fortified heaven.

"Wish we had that Taylor kid, he'd know what to do," he said.

_Primm, New California Republic Territory. _

Mac and Boone slowly approached the NCR checkpoint on the road by the town. Primm was bustling with activity, thanks to the amount of troops passing through on their way north. Mac had two Ranger Sequoias thrust through his belt, his M1 over his shoulder. As if to prove that he had fought against the Legion before, a machete gladius that he had claimed off of Aurelius of Phoenix's corpse rested in a specially made holster between his shoulder blades.

"Hold up, where you boys headed?" called the sergeant that led the checkpoint.

"The Outpost, we have a meeting with the brass," replied Boone. After a moment, The Sergeant nodded in approval and motioned to let them be allowed to pass. They continued south, leaving Primm behind as they made their way toward the outpost.

"You do realize we're being followed right?" asked Boone. Mac cocked his head up slightly, listening as they walked.

"I know," he replied. Boone looked back over his shoulder, in the direction of Primm.

"Going to do anything about it?" he asked. Mac shook his head in response.

"They'll let us know what they want on their terms," came the reply. Boone remained silent for a few more moments.

"Fine by me," he finally said.


	3. Chapter 3

__**As always, please review and let me know what you think **

_Fortification Hill. _

A man walked forward, his Centurion armor shining slightly in the sunlight. The blade that hung on his hip banged against his thigh, causing him slight annoyance. Before him, the brass armor and mask of Legate Lanius himself shined brightly.

"What would you have me do Legate?" asked the Centurion, bowing his head and placing his fist over his chest.

"Caesar has taken control of Vegas, soon all the Mojave will be under his control," said the Legate as he looked out over Hoover Dam, and the land beyond. The echoing voice of the Legate sent a chill down the Centurion's spine. But rather then give in to the reaction, he remained upright.

"I have heard the roomers that you are the son of Caesar himself, Centurion. If this is the case, then both He and I have a task for you," the Legate continued.

"What will you have me do?" he asked without hesitation.

"Out of everything the mighty Caesar and the Legion has come up against, the only really threat that has come up against it is a single man, a renegade that barred the mark of the bear. However he disappeared into the waists shortly before the Dam was taken. You are to track this renegade, this Mac Taylor down to his hiding place, and bring back his head," said the Legate.

The Centurion had heard the stories of Taylor, and how whole groups of Legionaries had died in the waists because he had gunned them down. Now he had his chance to prove that he was indeed his father's son.

"True to Caesar," he said.

_Mojave Outpost_

"Are you sure this is the right man for the job?" asked Malcolm Fisher as he sat next to Boone on the barstool. Mac stood in the far corner speaking with a Ranger. He had changed his attire to a Merc Troublemaker outfit shortly after arriving, but the shining two headed bears on the hilts of his guns still shone out in the shadows.

"He charged into Cottonwood Cove with his guns blazing, and he's killed at least thirty Legionaries by himself. Trust me, he's the man for the job," Boone replied.

"There's a fine line between brave leader and bloodthirsty maniac," Mal replied. Across the room, Mac nodded before he turned and walked over to where Boone and Mal sat.

"The brass wants us to take care of a Powder Ganger group that's been raiding between Primm and Goodsprings before we head to the front lines, he reported as he sat down.

"Didn't you take care of them?" Boone asked. Mac shrugged slightly.

"Apparently a few of them managed to escape the raid on the prison," he replied.

"So what's the plan?" asked Mal. Mac remained silent for a moment as he thought.

"We'll head north and take care of the gangers, then Boone I want you to get with your First Recon buddies and make sure that Primm Pass is clear of Legion," he said.

"Fine by me," said Boone. The three of them stood and walked out of the bar into the searing wasteland sun. Mac stopped a second to put on his black cowboy hat before he led the way to the two statues that stood on the edge of the hill. He stopped again, looking out over the landscape that sat before them. Even from here, the towering needle that was the Lucky 38 could be seen.

Mac had been inside it before, one of the few to do so in so long. Then he had killed Mr. House, so that the Republic could annex Vegas. But apparently they couldn't stop the Legion from pouring over the dam and taking control.

"I'll never get done taking care of this land will I?" he asked to no in particular before he started again. Mal and Boone shot each other a glance before they started after him in a hurry to catch up.

_The Long 15. Between Primm and Goodsprings. _

Ryan Ryker sat on a rock on top of a hill, overlooking the remains of the highway below. He watched the Powder Gangers below while he took a swig of whiskey. Putting the cork back in the bottle, he pulled out a lighter and began to play with it, watching the flame with almost a hypnotic stare. Powder Gangers, to him they had no real understanding or respect for the power of explosives. They only chucked dynamite and hoped for the best.

Pulling out his .357 magnum, he took careful aim before he fired. The stick of dynamite in one of the Ganger's hands detonated, blowing the small cluster apart. The sound of the blast echoed off of the surrownding hills With a wide grin, he leaned back and sat the gun to the side.

After all, it was rather amusing to see people being blown sky high.


	4. Chapter 4

__**As always, please review and let me know what you think **

_Outside Novac, Legion occupied territory. _

Jack Johnson crouched behind a rock, holding a pair of binoculars to his eyes. Below him, a column of Legionaries moved up the road toward the town. After watching for a few moments, he lowered the binoculars and reached out to his right. His grenade rifle lay next to him, the words 'Black Death' scrawled into the darkened metal of the barrel.

Racking the slide like a shotgun, he fired three quick shots before ducking down and lying on his back, his weapon clutched firmly to his chest. Three explosions rung out, causing dirt and small chunks of ancient asphalt to rain down around him, this was followed closely by the screams of wounded Legionaries, and the panicked gunfire of the survivors. Sliding some more shells into his gun, Jack grinned.

It felt good to get revenge on those who did wrong.

_Primm. _

"Civilization or not, you say that the Legion is a good thing again and I'll blow your brains out the back of your skull," said Mac coldly before he punched the local resident who's shirt he had been gripping. The man crumbled, his nose set at an odd angle with blood running down around his mouth.

"You really know how to pack it don't ya," said Mal, rubbing his jaw slightly as he looked back toward the fallen man Mac had just beaten senseless. Mac shrugged slightly as he led the way into the Vikki and Vance Casino. Mal's dog, which had followed them down from the Outpost, chose a cool corner to lie in before it settled into a nap. Boone had parted ways with them to rally his friends from First Recon to clear Primm Pass. Mac and Mal had some time to kill before they could get anything done.

"Howdy partner! Welcome to the Vikki and Vance Casino!" said the robot Primm Slim, his upper body rotating toward the two men.

"Howdy Slim!" said Mac, taking off his hat and sweeping it down low in a mock fashion. Turning away from the robot, he led the way across the dimly lit main room to the bar that sat in the corner.

"Did you really have to do that?" asked Mal as he took a seat at the bar. Mac sat his hat on the bar before taking the seat right next to him.

"Either that or I kill the damn thing and sell its parts to the highest bidder. But the locals are kinda fond of it so I let it be," he replied. Mal shot a glance back across the room toward the robot before returning his attention to where he was at.

"I take it by the fellow outside that you've been in a scrap or two before," he said. Mac nodded, attracting the attention of the bartender.

"One or two. This one guy, Benny was his name; he was one of the high rollers in the Strip Families before the Legion moved in. Needless to say I shot my way through his guards before I beat him into a pulp," he explained. The bartender brought over a shot glass and sat it down next to a bottle of whiskey. Mal took the opportunity to order a Scotch before returning to the story.

"I take it he wasn't very popular with the girls after that," he said. Mac shrugged before he downed a shot of whiskey.

"You could say that, I put two rounds through his skull with his own gun. One through each eye," came the reply. Mal gave him a look before he took the scotch that the bartender presented to him.

"I'm assuming he did more then beat you at blackjack," Mal said. Mac used his hand to pull back his hairline slightly. A thin, ugly scar was clearly visible on the upper end of his forehead.

"He and a few Great Khans had ambushed me near Goodsprings a few weeks before that. Benny put two in me, I put two in him, my aim was just a little better I guess," he said before he lowered his hand back to the bar. Across the room, a ragged looking group of men walked into the casino. Both Mal and Mac ignored them, attending to their own business.

One of the men, the man Mac had punched in fact, pointed across the room to where the two sat. The group made their way across the room to wear the pair sat.

"Your outa here, we don't like guys like you in this town," said one of the men, poking Mac in the shoulder with two fingers. Mac lifted his shot glass into the air, but held it out from his face.

"Why don't you quit jabbin me with those fingers and I won't break em off and shove em up your ass," he replied before downing the shot.

"Looks like we gotta do this the hard way boys," said the man, pulling out a switchblade. Mac let out a low groan, almost a growl before he stood up and faced the group as a whole, his hands resting on the handles of his guns. A few of the men noticed this, and their faces clouded with fear when they took notice of the golden two headed bears.

"I don't know about this man, he looks like one of them Rangers," said one of the men, stepping back slightly.

"Rangers use one of those guns. There's only one person who uses two of those at the same time," said another. Mal finished his glass of Scotch before he went to stand, but a gesture of Mac's wrist stopped him.

"I'll tell you what, drop the knives and what other weapons you have and we can have a good ole fashioned brawl. Or I can just flat out gun you down right here, your choice," he said. The men shifted on their feet uncomfortably, shooting glances at each other. Finally the leader dropped his switchblade, allowing it to stick in the floor. The rest of them quickly followed suit. Mac shot a glace at Mal.

"What do ya say? Want to join in?" he asked. Mal looked over the group for a moment.

"They outnumber us Mac, Seven to two ain't exactly my favorite kind of numbers," he said.

"I'll throw in two bottles of Scotch," Mac added. With this, Mal leapt to his feet, grabbed the barstool he had been sitting on and swung it like a baseball bat. Two of the men fell to the floor, having been hit by the barstool. Mac grabbed the whiskey bottle he had been drinking from and smashed it over the leader's head.

With two quick punches, he grabbed the leader and threw him over the railing, causing a few of the slot machines to fall to the floor with a crash. One of the men punched Mal in the kidney, but Mal responded by grabbing his shoulders and driving his kneecap into the man's stomach over and over.

One of the men gripped the switchblade that the leader had dropped and charged Mac. At the last second, Mac lowered his shoulder and rolled the man across his back, sending the man flying over the railing and landing on top of the fallen slot machines.

Recovering slightly, the man whose nose Mac had broken earlier pulled a 9MM pistol from a hiding spot. He fired one shot at Mac, but missed, the bullet whizzing past its target and smacking into the far wall. Mac spun on his heel, drawing his own guns, firing both of them at the same time. The back of the man's head exploded, sending blood and brain matter splattering over the side of the bar.

"I'd say that's enough fun for one day boys," he said, turning his guns toward the remaining men. Without so much as a word, the men struggled to their feet and stumbled out of the casino.

"Now where's that scotch you were talking about?" asked Mal somewhat eagerly. Mac returned his guns to their places before throwing few caps on the bar and motioning to the bottles sitting behind bar.

"Have fun, but keep it simple, we still got those gangers to deal with," he said as he turned and began to walk out.


	5. Chapter 5

__**As always, please review and let me know what you think.  
**

_Hoover Dam _

The Centurion walked with his subordinate in close toe. To their right, various lines of slaves were being led back over the dam. The cracked road had burn marks here and there, signs of the battle that had been fought here a few months ago.

"What is Caesar's bidding?" his subordinate finally asked. A few moments passed before the Centurion finally answered.

"What do you know of the man known as Mac Taylor?" he asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his subordinate's face pale at the mention of the name.

"Officially he is a sworn enemy of all the mighty Caesar has built. Unofficially he's like the Burned Man the slaves speak of; they say he rose from the dead, that any human weapon, no matter the make, couldn't kill him. Personally I think it's the name of a group of one of those Rangers," he replied. The Centurion continued to walk, leading the way past the mangled wreckage of the AA gun that had defended the dam.

"Oh he's one man alright, and he's a mere mortal that can be killed like anyone else. This man thinks he can challenge the might of the Legion, Mighty Caesar has proclaimed that we bring his head back on a platter. Rally your men, we march for Searchlight," The Centurion ordered.

_Long 15, between Primm and Goodsprings _

"You're gonna pay for messing with the Powder Gangers!" shouted one of the convicts as he lit a stick of dynamite. With all his might, he threw it at the attackers. But the stick suddenly detonated in the air in front of him, sending him skidding through the dirt on his back.

Mac turned his guns, using them to detonate more sticks that were chucked at him and Mal. The chambers of his sequoias swung open, allowing the spent shells to fall out onto the ground. Covering Mac as he reloaded, Mal unleashed a torrent of gunfire with his 10MM SMG, cutting down two more Gangers in the process.

With a flick of his wrists, Mac closed the chambers on his guns and took aim at the remaining Ganger. A grenade suddenly appeared at the base of the man's feet. It detonated too quickly for him to react, sending him flying without his legs. Mac raised his guns to the point that they pointed straight up as he studied the surrounding landscape for the source of the grenade.

"I have a tendency to shoot first and don't ask questions when it comes to raiders," he called. A young man in raider armor stood from his hiding spot, a large grin on his face.

"Good thing I'm not a raider then," he replied. Mac cocked his eyebrow before he jammed his guns back through his belt.

"Armor would suggest that," he said, motioning to the apparel he was wearing.

"If we were basing off of apparel only, I'd say I helped out a smart assed merc who's probably one of them Rangers in black armor," came the reply. Mac chuckled slightly before he motioned for the young man to approach. He made his way down the ridge before stopping a little ways away from both men.

"So if your not raider, what are you?" Mal asked. The newcomer leaned over and patted down one of the dead Gangers before coming up with a handful of caps.

"Great Kahn," he replied. Mac nodded his head slightly in approval, as he had a deep respect for the tribe.

"Thought ya'll headed north mister no name," he said. The new comer pulled out his lighter and began to toy with it.

"Name's Ryan Ryker, left the Khans before they left. So you got a name or what?" he asked.

"Mac Taylor, and this here is Malcolm Fisher," said Mac, motioning behind him to Mal. Ryker cocked his head slightly, his tired hazel green eyes flickering with recondition.

"You're the one who broke up the Kahn alliance with the Legion aren't you," he said. Mac's hand instinctively went to one of his guns.

"Problem?" he asked. Ryker shook his head, his grin returning.

"Nope, never did like the idea of slaves," he replied. Mac nodded in approval at this, his hand moving away from his gun.

"We're headed into Legion territory, thinking about raising a little hell. Care to tag along?" he asked. Ryker perked up at this, his interest peaked.

"Any money involved?" he asked. Mac pulled out a small pouch and tossed it to the young man. Ryker opened the pouch, reviling several gold and silver Legion coins.

"Anything we can pick of the Legionaries or their caravans, plus any other loot we may come across," he said. Ryker looked over the coins drool forming at the corners before he looked up at the pair.

"If the pay is good I'll chip in a little while," he said. Mac nodded in approval before he turned and began to walk. Ryker quickly closed the pouch before he hurried after the other two.

"So where are we going?" he asked. Mac kicked a dead Ganger before he picked up a stick of dynamite and tossed it to Ryker.

"Primm Pass, and eventually Novac. Think you can keep yourself from blowing us all up?" he replied, motioning to the lighter in Ryker's hand. The young man grinned again before he put the lighter away. Mac turned again before he tossed a box of .357 Magnum rounds over his shoulder.

"Keep that gun loaded," he said without turning around. Ryker reached around his back and pulled out the revolver he had stashed there. He looked between the gun and Mac with a stunned look on his face.

"Damn your good," he said before he hurried after the other two, looking forward to see what the road ahead had for him.


	6. Chapter 6

**As always, please review and let me know what you think. **

_Wolfhorn Ranch, NCR/Legion disputed territory. _

Jonathan Darryl sat on a short ridge, just behind the windmill. His Anti Material Rifle was pressed to his shoulder as he looked through the scope. On the plains between him and Searchlight marched a Legion column, heading in a northwesterly direction from their landing point at Cottonwood Cove. Behind him, the sun was sinking in the west.

After a few minutes of watching, he lowered the rifle and scribbled something down on a piece of paper. Tucking the paper back into his pack, he stood and reslung the rifle over his back before placing a breathing mask over his mouth.

Casting another glance at the dust cloud below, he turned and began to walk north as well, heading for the front lines.

_NCR Correctional Facility. _

"The troopers sure didn't leave much when they raided this place did they?" said Mal as he inspected an empty bean can. Ryker poked the small campfire they had built in the middle of the compound with a stick, the flames having seemed to have hypnotized him.

"They left enough," Mac replied as he bit into a carrot. After a few moments, he picked up a pebble and tossed it at Ryker, chuckling slightly as he jumped when it bounced off his armor.

"So, you got any ideas on how we fight against the Legion?" asked Mal as he sat next to the fire, with Mac sitting opposite of him.

"Oh, I got a few," came the reply.

"Care to share?" asked Ryker, staring at the flames again. Mac leaned back slightly, looking up at the stars overhead.

"Well first, we need to put some cash together and finance this thing," he said. Mal cocked his eyebrow as he uncorked his bottle of Scotch.

"I take it you got a stash or two hidden out somewhere," he said before taking a swig of the drink.

"A few mason jars of caps, along with some gold bars and whatever I managed to take off the Legion caravans," Mac replied before turning down a drink. Ryker's eyes seemed to have life suddenly rush back into them when gold was mentioned.

"Did you say gold bars?" he asked. The former courier nodded in reply.

"As many as I could drag back from the Sierra Madre." Ryker blinked and his eyes narrowed.

"Bullshit. The Serria Madre is a myth," he said. Mac grinned and shrugged slightly.

"So was Vegas at one point," he replied. The former Great Kahn did have to agree to that. To the warring factions, Vegas had once been the equivalent of El Dorado, nothing more then stories of a shining city in the desert. Now they were killing each other over it.

"Shit. If I had known that gold was involved I would have signed up a lot sooner," Ryker said. Mal gave him a look.

"I figured you would have wanted to burn a few Legionaries," he said. Ryker nodded.

"That too." Mac grinned at the pyro's attitude. No doubt, his skills would be needed during the upcoming fight. With a simple grunt, Ryker laid back and drifted off into a deep sleep. Mal watched him for a moment before retuning his attention to Mac.

"You think he'll be any help?" he asked. Mac shrugged in response.

"Either he'll our explosives expert or he'll charge the legion with a lit stick of dynamite. Every little bit helps," he replied. Mal shrugged before he took another drink.

"So what was that about the Serria Madre?" he asked. Mac looked into the flames.

"What about it?" he asked.

"You said you'd been there. What was it like?" Mac remained silent for several minutes as his thoughts turned back to the resort turned prison. In particular, he focused on one particular person he had left behind there. He had found Christine Royce scarred and voiceless in a malfunctioning auto-doc. Together, they had defeated Elijah and taken the gold in the vault of the Sierra Madre. But she had stayed behind to watch over the place, despite his attempts to talk her out of it.

"About two weeks after I tracked down Benny, a weird signal appeared. It was broadcasting the opening night of the Sierra Madre. Now I had heard the stories of the place, and I could tell by listening to the signal that it was some kind of pre war broadcast system. Eventually I tracked the signal to an abandoned Brotherhood of Steal bunker," he said.

"Let me guess, you found the legend buried beneath the desert of the Mojave," said Mal. The Courier shook his head.

"I was ambushed. A former Brotherhood Elder by the name of Elijah threw three others and me together and forced us to break into the place," he said.

"Well judging by the fact that you're still here, I'd say you got away from it in one piece." Mac grinned in response to that.

"You could say that. I tricked him and locked him in the vault, as far as I know he's still there," he said. Mal grinned, as he had come to expect this from The Courier.

"So, is there a girl waiting somewhere for the famous Mac Taylor?" he asked. Mac's grin faded away as he stared into the flames again.

"There was." This sudden change in his mood put Mal on edge. He proceeded with caution, knowing that he was entering dangerous territory.

"Did she have a name?" he asked.

"Rose of Shannon Cassidy. Cass for short," came the reply. Mal took a breath.

"What happened?"

"She died." With that Mac laid back, silently ending the conversation. After a few minutes, Mal put the stopper back in his bottle and sat it to the side. He could tell by the way Mac fought the Legion that something had happened to her and he held the Legion responsible.


End file.
